Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps
by Where You Lead
Summary: Raven plus Robin plus Christmas Eve plus wrestling shoulder throws, you know, the usual.


Raven/Robin, small holiday ficlet, one-shot, etc, etc, etc.

**Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps**

Raven scowled at her mug of tea, both hands clasped round its warmth in such a way as to remind one of a death grip, or similarly, a metal vice. Seated in the common room of Titans Tower, she probably could have chosen a better location to be contrary, grim, and altogether on the dark side of the force—her room, perhaps. But no, there she sat, with her tea, and her scowl. Robin was the only one confident enough to approach her.

To shed some light on this particular Christmas Eve, Starfire was out doing last minute shopping—last minute shopping that Robin had repeatedly tried to warn her away from—and Beastboy was at the mall as well, but only for the arcade. Cyborg had chosen to spend this Christmas Eve and half the following day with the Titans East. Bumblebee's death threat with flowers she sent to him weeks earlier about what might happen if Cyborg didn't spend Christmas Eve with them had pretty much sealed that. Then Starfire called to say she was ever so sorry, but a blizzard that both Raven and Robin could plainly see had put the mall under arrest. The roads were closed, and while she tried to explain to the people in guard uniforms that she could fly and it hardly mannered, they simply did not listen to her, but not to fear, for she was fine, and Beastboy was fine, and she still had more shopping to do anyway. Then the blizzard seemed to have a baby blizzard in its midst more akin to a typhoon or one of the biblical plagues.

And then Robin approached Raven and somehow, that seemed eons more apocalyptic than what was going on outside the panoramic window in front of them.

"You're too smart to not know where you're sitting," he said, and if she didn't know him better, she would call his walk up to her more of a saunter. But she did know him better, and so she called it stupid.

"I am sitting on the couch, Robin," she replied, but her hands gripped the mug a bit more tightly as she focused her stare at the center of her tea.

"And…"

"The middle of the couch."

"And…"

"The middle of the couch in the living room."

"And…."

"I'd hate to be the cause of a homicide on Christmas Eve. That's a little low, even for me." She let her gaze wander to his masked eyes and delivered the same glare that sent small animals and hardcore criminals running at the same speed of very, very fast.

Sadly, Robin had grown an immunity to this glare some time ago.

"I guess I'm lucky that way," he said at last and shot her his trademark grin, the grin that made girls fall in love with him and form vastly disturbing cults around him, the grin that made all the boys in the world, plus Raven, want to punch him square in the jaw.

"Don't count your robins before they're hatched," she muttered and she heard him sigh.

"You're really not going to acknowledge it," he relented, arching a brow, removing his mask.

"Since I have no idea what you are insinuating or referring to, Robin, no," she said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

For a while they became aware of the mish-mash of natural disasters whirling outside the window, the white flurry and the roaring wind. For a while, Robin simply looked at Raven, as if willing her to do something, as if waiting.

Then he sat next to her and, taking the mug out of her tired hands, leaned forward, and kissed her. It was not a kiss on the cheek, and not even a miss in which it might have landed on her nose or her eye. No, it was a kiss on the lips, and just in case this could be taken as meaning anything else, it should be known that this simply meant that his mouth was on hers. Raven's eyes, as wide as they tended to get when she and Starfire switched personalities, blinked rapidly. Stunned, she looked up when Robin pointed above them, only to spot a single sprig of mistletoe before the power to finally cut out, leaving them in predictable darkness.

"I hate Christmas."

"I know."

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

Silence.

"Yes I do."

"No, you don't."

A sigh.

"I hate Christmas."

The lights flickered back on, almost reluctantly. Robin reached above their heads and took down the mistletoe, handing it to Raven in the same way one might offer a rose or fancy chocolates as he said once more, "I know."

The two young heroes shared another look, not aggressive or irritable, not grumpy or even misplaced, but thoughtful, and perhaps, understanding. This look lasted long enough that it would make anyone feel uncomfortable, even a friend or a lover. But Robin came from a long line of stubbornness and Raven hated to lose, so the look held on and on, on and on.

This kind of staring, of course, could only lead to another kiss and Robin saw to that soon enough.

Two death wishes, that's what Raven logged away in her mind, but as they kissed, she tucked the sprig of mistletoe into her pocket for safekeeping. She would hunt down the other offenders later with all haste, regardless of the fact that the way Robin threaded his fingers through her hair while they kissed was rather pleasant.

If he was going to kiss her anyway, after all, Raven thought, and later told him, he shouldn't need a holiday garnish to motivate him.

For the moment, she experimented with places to put her own hands: on his shoulders, his forearms, one hand faming his face while the other made up its mind, and so on.

By the third or fifth kiss, her hands decided they liked his shoulders best.

They really did provide the best leverage for when she flipped him on his back and stepped over him, picking up her tea and the previously forgotten novel. Glancing down at him, eyes dancing with something smug and a little foolish, she bent slightly, bringing her face rather as close to Robin's as it had been not seconds before.

"I also don't like surprises," she said in a lower tone than usual, which Robin was irked to find he thought sounded rather sexy. Needless to say, Raven would not have been pleased either, because honestly, one's threatening voice was not typically supposed to be synonymous with one's come-hither voice, preferably anyway.

"Noted," he said and, the incorrigible fool that he was, he smiled when he said it. Rolling her eyes, Raven walked away, book clutched to her chest, her tea held carefully in front. She was already to the main room door when Robin's voice carried across to her again:

"I think we should date."

Robin wasn't sure what he expected, but he waited for anything.

A very long set of minutes later, he blinked as Raven turned to stare at him across the room. Brushing a stray section of hair behind her ear with her free hand, she gave him a look that seemed to call him a moron and incredible, all in one, and then she rolled her eyes again.

"It will be a new year," she said at last, and then, looking past him, added, "Merry Christmas, Richard." Robin smiled and then turned to see what she had looked at, seeing the clock and smiling wider. By the time he turned back, not three seconds later, she was gone, but Robin, being Robin only shook his head and brushed his lips with his fingers, thoughtful.

A new year.

She either meant something by it, or she didn't, but Robin was willing, he decided upon retreating to his own quarters, just the kind of guy who would bank on a fifty, fifty chance.

The odds, after all, were rather in his favor, he felt.

For, despite the federation wrestler reminiscent shoulder throw she had used on him, and despite Raven simply being Raven, only one thing really mattered about this Christmas Eve experiment: she kissed him back.

That, Robin thought to himself before settling down for some rare sleep, was something for the record books.

She kissed him back.

He'd have to work on a plan for an encore in the morning.


End file.
